PS 3537 
.T855 MB 


1912 





















v\^ 











MY LITTLE BOOK OF LIFE 



MY LITTLE BOOK 
OF LIFE 

BY 
MURIEL STRODE 




CHICAGO 
ACMc CXURG fe'Co. 

MCMXU 






Copyright 

A. C. McCIurg & Co. 

1912 

Published September, 1912 



The Ralph Fletcher Seymour Co. 
Fine Arts Building, Chicago 






rtt 



MY LITTLE BOOK 

OF 

LIFE 

BY 

Muriel Strode 

T MUST forget self, and yet, 
-*• above all things, I must not 
forget self. 

Only he is capable of univer- 
sality who adores his own soul. 



T 



O do the thing that counts, 
and then not count it ! 



AN angel's wing beats at every 
window, but only the listen- 
ing hear and rise. 



IF I go unloved, I shall not 
chide Fate, but I shall bemoan 
that I should be a thing unlov- 
able. 

If I go friendless, I shall re- 
proach none, but I shall lament 
that I have not the attributes of a 
friend. 

If I go uncomforted, the world 
shall be blameless, but I shall re- 
gret that it was in no wise in my 
debt. 

T CANNOT go so far that God 
•*• will not go with me. I start- 
ed on my desolate way, and I 
found that God had strapped on 
his knapsack, and taken up his 
staff. 



I AM in the firing line, in the 
front ranks. 
I have elected to be in the fire 
and the smoke, in the Battle of 
Being. 

THERE is a certain look that 
is mine wherever I find it 
over the world, in man or beast, — 
the look of the understanding eye. 

•I 
T F you would pass through, you 
■* must pass through alone. 

The way has ever been a trail, 
not a highway. 

I AM the plant, surviving de- 
spite its all-consuming thirst. 
I am the bird, singing as it 
beats with its broken wing. 



MY only dereliction will be if 
I let a day pass that does 
not bear my imprint upon it, that 
does not carry my royal insignia, 
my coat of arms. 

TT were a misfortune to have 
■*• friends until I have learned in 
my loneliness not to be lonely; 

Or to have wealth, until I am 
rich without it. 

THERE are two ecstasies. 
One is "En route!" The 
other is ''Arrived!" 

A ND if you are determined, I 
■^^^ will stand aside, for I but 
delay the day. 

I will be here waiting for you 
when you get back from hell. 



T AM a stone, indifferent to 
■*• look upon, dull, and without 
the fire of life, but one day one 
will come by who will raise me 
to an angle in the light. 

I am a reed, mute and insen- 
sate, but one day the wind will 
touch me, and I will sway with 
vibrant melody. 

T WILL not ask for succor, but 
•*" for increased strength. 

My burden may be great, but I 
will be greater, 

T WILL endure the martyrdom 
•*• of right, but when I am 
ground down and swept under 
by a martyrdom to wrong, I will 
call myself by my right name, 
"Fool!" 



MY environment may be mak- 
ing me what I am, but I am 
permitting the environment. 

MY strictly own is coming to 
me every hour, and if that 
which I crave does not come, it is 
because I have never made it 
mine. 

I AM the sunlight to the soil of 
my own soul. 
I am the warm rains, and the 
maturing days and nights. 

I PRAYED that blessings 
might be bestowed, and then 
one day I learned that they could 
only be evolved. 



I WOULD establish the an- 
swer, that you might know 
there is one. 

I would reclaim the desert of 
my life, that you might know that 
barren sands may bloom. 

MY house and garden may be 
an alms-house and its en- 
virons, and my well-filled garner 
may be a sign, not of my wealth, 
but of my impoverishment. 

I MAY be lost in the under- 
ground of life, but I will trust 
my soul to know the passages. 

I WILL not argue my rights. 
What is mine is incontestable. 



NOTHING is ever done by 
twos. It is always, one, 
one, some one who strikes out 
alone over the unpromising 
waste. 

It is always the whitening 
bones of some one. 

T LABORED on my bended 
-*- knees, but the rags on which I 
knelt became a prayer rug. 

TT WENT in a Sorrow, but 
•*• through the alchemy of Self, 
it came out a Song. 

T MAY be blind, and halt, and 
■*- lame, but what matter, if the 
Great Equalizer has given me 
wings. 



T CURSED my misfortune, — 
•*• and it remained one. 

T AM the unsheltered life. 

•*• AM the nurture of the storm. 

I am the enrichment of poverty. 

I am the all-sufRcience of him 
who must pass alone. 

I am the fearlessness of him 
who has encountered many foes. 

I am the strength of him who 
has had much to combat. 

I am the ruggedness of him who 
has grown up through rocks. 

I am the unsheltered life. 

T AM working the soil. Those 
•*• who come after will find the 
points of the plow-shares. 

I am fighting the fight, — they 
will find the moldering scabbard. 



T WOULD open the doors of 
-*• the temple so God could 
get in. 

T WILL not work in rivalry, 
-■■ but I will labor to transcend 
myself. 

TDEAUTIFUL Death! Sweet 
•*-* transition ! — a wild violet 
growing on my own grave. 

rr^O MAKE of one's self a 
-■- sounding-board of the Di- 
vine, a harp of life, vibrant, and 
sweet, and healing. 

/^NE day I shall come through 
^^ Fields of Peace, up past the 
Hills of Joy. 



I DO not want to be reconciled 
to life ; I want to be glad of it. 
I do not want the word that 
comforts, for life is young. I 
want the word that thrills. 

I WILL not look at the man 
who has lost both feet, and 
then console myself that I still 
have one on which to hobble, but 
I will look at the man who has 
both feet and wings, and then 
look at myself and weep. 

IF I shall have an existence 
there, is too remote. That I 
have one here, is all-important. 

That I may have an immortal 
soul, is irrelevant. That I have 
a mortal one, is vital. 




I DO not ask for faith in a God, 
but give me faith in myself, 
and then if there is a God I shall 
do him credit. 

I do not ask for faith in a here- 
after, but let me believe in today, 
and no hereafter can present that 
I shall not be well prepared. 

T HAVE sharpened the shares, 
-*• and harnessed an increased 
force, for I have determined to 
plow the furrows deeper, and 
turn up new layers of life. 

OU did not teach me life. 

You taught me its business 
and tricks. You taught me the 
piece of white glass, while I 
sought the blue-white diamond 
of being. 



Y 



T WILL give and give, to your 

■*• deep need, but not to your 

selfishness. 

•I 

TO SAIL on wings of un- 
restraint, there where there 
is no chart of the skies ! 

WE WORK and wait and 
pray that our own shall 
know our face, but we shall have 
often to subdue the heart's lone 
cry, else our own shall find us with 
a foundling in its place. 

TT IS that one crying in the 
•*- wilderness that gives life its 
poignancy. Who would not for- 
sake all the stars in the firmament 
and go in search of the lost 
Pleiad? 



THE promise of heaven is no 
solace to him who hungers 
for life. If I were proffered it, I 
could only say, '1 still have the 
Want. Heaven is not what I 
seek." 

J IMPORTUNED the gods, 
-*• and got a beggar's desserts. 

T AM the well-born, — I tran- 
-*• scend my pedigree. 

I am that one saved from him- 
self to posterity. 

I, myself, am the nucleus of a 
new race. 

I have overcome the distortions 
of the womb. 

I have established myself, re- 
gardless of a thousand years. 



ALL that abides is made wel- 
come. That cannot be gain- 
said. 

Fate may cast the foundling at 
my door, but it is I who give it to 

suckle at my breast. 
n 

I FED myself, body, mind, and 
soul, into the maw of my sur- 
roundings, and I thought I was a 
great martyr. The only thing 
great about it was the great mis- 
take. 

T AM the slave, else how could 
■*• I sing of freedom"? 

I am the oppressed, else how 
could I sing of deliverance*? 

I am that that is, looking away 
to the hills to that that ought 
to be. 



T WILL call the Devil Friend 
-^ and Brother. It is in him and 
he doesn't know it. 

nr<0 UNCOVER new stratas 
^ of myself. To drill down 
to unknown levels. To uncover 
beds, and veins, and pockets down 
in the untried depths. 

T IFE consigned us all to the 
'^^ pit, and she knew that there 
were those who would weep, and 
go, and those who would laugh at 

her, and stay. 

•I 

WHEN I moan in agony of 
body, you may heal me, but 
when I moan in agony of soul, I 
must heal myself. 



TTOW sweet the Hurt would 
■*--■- be if one could but spread 
the mantle of his healing over all 
the world! 

ZONE'S "Peace, be still!" will 
^^ not comfort until it has first 
been spoken to the turbulence of 
his own soul. 

'TnO GO wrong is sometimes 
-■- the surest way to go right. 
It is not always down to 
depths : it is down, sometimes, to 
heights. I got my first perspec- 
tive of heaven from hell. 

'THHE hindrance may be colos- 
-■- sal, but so am I. It will be a 
match of Goliaths. 



I AM myself, and you are you. 
Blessed be the day that we 
accept that. 

I may be a bird, and you may 
be a bird, but with all your pray- 
ing, you may not be as I, — with 
scarlet wings. 

And you may be a reed, and I 
may be a reed, but, though I die, 
I may not be as you, — a lute. 



T AM the seer coming into his 
■'■ vision. 

I am the dreamer on the edge 
of his dream. 

I am the prophet nearing his 
promised land. 



TF I would be queen tomorrow 
-*■ when I sit upon a throne, I 
must be not less a queen today 
in my hand-maiden sphere. 

Every step must be as an heir- 
apparent walking toward her 
crown. 

H 

WHATEVER I pledged for 
myself in my wildest ex- 
travagant moments shall be the 
truth for me. Talk not to me of 
sober estimate, — I set a daring 
limit when drunk with expect- 
ancy. 

T WILL leave some sign that I 
-*• came by, — my initials carved 
upon the bark of the tree of life. 



To BE that life that has 
known its Tidal Wave, the 
sweeping rush of waters ; 

That has known its Conflagra- 
tion, and has been burned clean. 

LIFE does not coerce. The 
voice that calls is still and 
small, and the hand that beckons 
is as a shadow hand. 

Ti^AY not the elusive quick- 
•"-^ silver long to be the beaten 
gold of life? 

T NO longer ask the approval 
"* of the throng. It is not es- 
sential. 

The violet cannot change its 
hue, though its heart break. 



I DO not ask to be delivered 
from the burden of life, — 
only from its over-burden. 

Gladly would I toil in the mill, 
— it is the tread-mill we pray to 
be delivered from. 

I would tax my strength to 
its full, but we tax it to the 
breaking. 

TO give the reins to life ! 
O loosen it from its leash, 
and know its free and unrestricted 
movement. 

To reach out and out, and feel 
not the tightening of the thong. 

TT may be I cannot change my 
-*• environment, but my location 
may be changed. 



TT is not life's ultimate that 
-*• bears us down to the dust. 
''Some time!" ''Some where!" is 
the slogan of every heart that 
breaks. 

T ATTRACT what I am. 
-*• Life will have vasty barren 
places until I cover my own desert 
with green. 

T HAVE picked up the grains 
-■• that lay outside the door, but, 
oh! to enter into the garner house, 
where there is life abundant. 

T IFE remains so long in the 
•*-' narrows, until one day — 
that is the day! — we sail through 
the straits, out to the open sea. 



GIVE me but a gleam of the 
red star that is set upon a 
hill, and I will ask no favors of 
Fate. 

I will ask no guide nor stay, if 
I may but have the gleam. 

IT is only the long and patient 
road that leads to anywhere. 

ONE passed through and came 
bearing balm and ointment, 
and one passed through, and came 
with a curse. 



TO BE in the front ranks, 
marching to the music. 
To be the glorified pedestrian, 
with the transcendent look in his 
face. 



WHY ask of me the part of 
piquancy, when I am oval 
and mobile? 

Why ask of me the magpie's 
chatter, or the robin's roundelay, 
when I am the night-bird, with its 
single cry? 



o 



NCE I set out on my way, I 
must win my right to go on. 



'T^HE tragedy is if I become 
-*• limited by another's limita- 
tions, and unfixed and undone 
because another is unfixed and 
undone. 

I am my own ultimate hin- 
drance, but in the meantime I 
may have much else to overcome. 




Do not say, 
that/' 
The things which I can do can- 
not be selected. 

I HAVE wandered far upon 
the desert plain, but in my 
heart a bird keeps singing, and 
the daffodils beckon and blow, — 
and one day I shall wander back. 

TO know the unobstructed 
life! 
To tear down the walls that 
confine me, and have unrestricted 
movement in unbounded spaces. 

T AM the cocoon in process, 
■*• but one day I will lift up my 
gorgeous golden wings, and you 
will have learned of me. 



IF I may but have the thrill of 
being, I will make no stipu- 
lations, whether it be in a fisher- 
man's hut, with the smell of nets 
and tar, or in a plainsman's 
cabin, with the wide expanse for 
friend, or in the furrow, with the 
feel of the warm earth on my feet. 
I will make no conditions, if I 
may but have the thrill. 



I AM the strength that was 
born of my weakness. 
I am the steadfastness that 
came out of my wavering. 

I am the joy of living that was 
born of my despair. 

I am the poise that was born of 
my great unrest. 



/r^^era^r^^^^^ri^^z^^fcr^^ 



UP through sin to sainthood is 
not an uncommon way. 

TO have been faithful I 
O be able to say: 
'1 have done the thing, and I 
have put all of myself into it. I 
have done it with all the brawn 
of my hands, with all the warmth 
of my heart, and with all the glow 
of my soul!" 

YESTERDAY'S weaving is 
as irrevocable as yesterday. 
I may not draw out the threads, 
but I may change my shuttle. 

T DOUBT my own progress 
-^ when the time is far removed 
since I have said of myself, ''O 
Fool!" 




IN the hey-day I painted the 
spirit of the free, unfettered 
flight, and men passed it by, but 
later I painted the shadow of the 
broken pinion, and they came to 
look. 

TNTENSITY of desire will 
•*• always find a way, just as 
weakness of purpose will always 
find an excuse. 

T WEEP, and throw myself 
•*• against the iron bars of life, 
imploring to be let in, but life 
can neither let me in nor keep 
me out. 

TF we would live for a cause, 
-*• we get our chance to die for it. 



IT is not what I get that bears 
the significance; it is what I 
become. 

TO tear away the verbiage 
and speak that one word 
that is truly myself! 

TO be stripped of all vanity, 
and stand forth a naked 
soul! 

I HAVE wandered far. 
AM a long, long way from 
home. 

It is I back there at the turn of 
the road, my other self, waiting. 
It is I who peer away into the 
distance. 

It is I waiting for myself to 
return. 



T HAVE cried out for succor, 
■*• for deliverance, but back of 
that wail, and back of that prayer, 
I know that if alone I am not 
equal to the struggle, fruition, 
too, will need a stay. 

YOU see only this endless 
stretch of water, this un- 
broken waste of life, and you 
pity me. But hold! One day 
the waters will tremble, the earth 
will quake, and a new world will 
be heaved up out of the sea. 

THAT which becomes bound- 
en becomes a burden, though 
it were erstwhile coveted. Only 
in free action is there joy. 



IT is my unending privilege to 
be my most eccentric self, but 
it is not my privilege to inflict 
my eccentricities upon my neigh- 
bor. When I am my neighbor's 
guest, I will leave my cats and 
my parrots behind in my own 
domain. 

SO long I dwelt in discord 
that I became attuned to 
strife. 

So long I played life out of 
tune, that my perverted ear was 
keyed to dissonance. 

I AM the eleventh hour. 
AM the foam-flecked horse. 
I am the reprieve. 
I am the glint of light through 
the cleft in the wall. 



I PRAYED to God for strength 
to keep a promise, when 
strength to break it was my great 
need. 



w 



HO goes far will go with- 
out guide or map. 



ONE is stultified and stupe- 
fied with over -abundance, 
with too much, — and has not end 
or aim of being. 

And another starves, — while 
his zealot's soul leads him 
madly on. 

THE lambs of my own fold 
are bleating in the deep 
wood. That is how I know the 
call of desolate mother ewes. 



WHO can abandon the thing 
but abandons a foundling. 
He has never known his own. 

le 
T AM the mourner, and I am 
•*• the dead in life, but I am the 
comforter, and I am the resurrec- 
tion. I will not let myself forget 

that. 

m 

WHEN yesterday is dead, I 
shall bury it. 
My onward march is over new- 
made graves. 

TO CARRY the burdens of 
strength, and not the bur- 
dens that are imposed, or that 
gravitate, because of lack of it! 



A S deep as my desire be it 
•^^^ unto me, and as broad as 
my own estimate. 
•I 

ONE day I will look back in 
retrospect, and I will say, 
either, "I have done," or, '1 might 
have done." The world is of 
these two kinds. 
n 

CONDITIONS may make 
some men, but some men 
can make conditions. 
•I 

I SHALL not fear want of ac- 
tion, but if want of inspira- 
tion should be my lack! 

To lose the urge, the desire, — 
that is the fatality. 



1HAVE seen a bird, with its 
broken wing, fluttering along 
in the dust, when it should have 
been sailing the blue of the sky. 
And that is life. But one day 
the Wonder-worker touches it, 
and makes it whole, and it sails 
up to the very heart of the sun. 

WE pray for fruition, when, 
if our prayer were an- 
swered, our all-too-soon-ripened 
fruit would be worm-mellowed 
and wind-blown. 

Ti^ Y endurance may be born 
•*"^-*- of courage, but I will not 
forget that it may also be born 
of that most pitiable of human 
things, — weakness. 



To become reconciled to, may 
be to become like unto. I 
will have a care. I may be the 
tree -toad taking on the color of 
the tree. 

TT is not what I make of my 
•*■ house, or my garden, but what 
I make of me. My house may 
collapse, and my garden may 
sink into the sea, but between 
myself and me no accident can 
intervene. 

T MAY withstand the test of 
■*• going without, but will I 
withstand the test of having? 

16 

TO be big! big! To have an 
all-inclusive growth. 



T SHALL go on when my 
-■• friends, for me, have said it 
is impossible. 

I shall be buoyant and hopeful 
when my friends, for me, are in 
despair. 

I shall fight on and conquer 
when my friends, for me, have 
lain down and died. 

•ft 
T T cannot possibly be to my dis- 
•*• credit that I believed in you, 
but it may be to your shame. 

WHEN I yield and am 
ground under, I am not 
yielding to your strength, but to 
your weakness, which is destroy- 
ing both you and me. 



YOUR life may lie in the 
digging of the furrows, but, 
pray God, let me go out with my 
seines. 

You may dig your soul up with 
the soil, but mine I must lift up 
in my net with the fishes. 

MY prayer need not be deeper 
for strength to bear adver- 
sity than for capacity to with- 
stand success. 

I prayed to be kept sweet in 
poverty, but I would go down 
on my knees and pray to God to 

keep me sweet in wealth. 

•I 

LIFE could have withheld her 
lash, but she did not wish 
me to die in my sleep. 



I WOULD dredge the chan- 
nel, that it may be wide and 
deep, and unobstructed, on that 
day that my ship comes in. 

LIFE knows the price we must 
pay for the things worth 
while, and in her long-sightedness 
she lets us pay. 

T T is written in the stars — when 
-■• I myself shall write it there 
with lofty hand. 

I WILL loosen my clutch upon 
those things which are not 
mine, which I hold fast by grip 
of will. 

My own will abide. 



nr^HE moment I make an ex- 
-■- cuse, I confess to many 
things. 

I SAW a log pushed down un- 
der the water, and it came up, 
and I saw it pushed down again, 
and it came up again, — and 
again, — and again. But there 
came a time when it was water- 
logged, and it went down to the 
bottom to stay. And I thought 
of life, and I tried to pray. 



T WOULD follow the trail 
•*• with the faith and abandon 
of a child who believes that a 
pot of gold lies at the rainbow's 
end. 



I PRAYED to have my own 
in life, when I was the only 
one that could circumvent it. 



I WILL keep the promise I 
have made to myself. 
I will keep the faith and the 
covenants. 

I will not betray myself into 
unfulfillment. 

I WOULD not wish to arrive 
if I should forget the way I 
came. 

I may sing my song trium- 
phant, but it is the memory-note 
of pain that establishes it as 
truth. 



SORROW is one of the long 
line of guests whom Life has 
assured of my hospitality. 

I will accord her gracious treat- 
ment, and the deference that is 
her due. 

She is not an interloper, nor an 
enemy within my gates. She is 
my sad-meined guest, and I will 
walk softly in the majesty of her 
gray presence, and she will smile 
upon me with the benign smile of 
a mother fostering the soul of 
her child. 

IS 

SAID I could have done the 
thing, had the obstacles been 
removed, but after all else had 
been cleared away, there would 
still have been myself. 



I 



T TOILED for my body, and 
•*• starved. 

That day that I labor for my 
soul, the birds from heaven will 
feed me. 



GLADNESS sings its songs, 
but the words that live are 
crushed out. 



HAD I done the thing that 
was indicated, the bolts 
would have been withdrawn, and 
the doors would have opened. 

I would not have wandered, as 
now, an alien, without a homing 
hearth. 



TF I make my of life, it will be 
•*• I, alone, who make of it. 

What another does, or leaves 
undone, can have no vital mean- 
ing to me. 

I SAID I did not have time, 
but to what did I give the 
time, and was it a fair exchange? 

SHALL I be the pack-horse, 
dragged and dead, without 
mettle or life, the tired animal, 
young, yet faded and blighted 
and old? 

Have I not right to freshness, 
and buoyance and grace? 

Am I the slaughter of the 
shamble, or am I a temple of the 
living God? 



To get back to the few things 
and the truth of things; 
From the orchestration of life 
to the beauty of a single trumpet 
call. 

THE opportunity to live my 
life was always present, but 
the courage was not. 

I bemoaned conditions, when I 
should have bemoaned merely the 
faint heart within me. 

T WILL hasten the day to cut 
•*- the thongs that bind a mis- 
shapen life, lest, too long con- 
fined, it never regains its sym- 
metry. 

H 

'Tp O but once taste the bowl of 
-*" the overflowing life ! 



T WALKED in the conscious- 
-^ ness of divinity. It may have 
been only myself, but I walked 
in the consciousness. 

YOU tell me you could do 
this, or that, but I do not be- 
lieve you. Great power to do 
has great impelling force. 

T SAW a cross on the mountain- 
•*• side, white and holy in its re- 
pose, and on approach I found 
that it was a fissure in the earth, 
a scar, a nature-wound, which had 
been healed and anointed. 

T AM the ointment. 

•*- AM the healing to my own 

life. 



LIFE sent the blight and the 
drought to my fields, that 
one day I might grow, not only 
my fields abundant, but my fields 
triumphant, as well. 

ONE day life will be culled, 
and all that is irrelevant 
and without meaning will be cast 
out. 

TO be open to the kindness of 
life. 
To be open to the softness of it. 
To be open to its great friendli- 
ness. 

I AM not the sacrifice. 
TOO am a god to be ap- 
peased. 



MY religion, too, must have a 
practical usage. Am I less 
than the bird that builds its nest 
in the steeple? 

I know not your decree to keep 
the Sabbath day holy. Go tell it 
to the brook. It will chortle at 
your implied desecration of the 
other six. 

WRITE me as an herb- 
gatherer, and say the soil 
I dug was my soul. 



WHEN will I leave off 
dancing the Dance of the 
Manikins and dance the Dance 
of Me? 



WHEN my soul goes march- 
ing on, that it might march 
to the music of fife and drum, 
that it might march with the 
soldiers. 

When taps are sounded, that 
it might be that a soldier's soul 
is passing. 

IT went in brackish and un- 
clean, but it came out the 
filtration of life. 
n 

TRULY, life is by the sweat 
of the soul ! 

T SIGHED for a kingdom to 
-*• rule, when I could not put 
on my own coat and hat with 
mastery. 



To slake the thirst of being. 
O drink the draught, deep, 
and cool, and satisfying. 

HAD life been more abun- 
dant, I could not know the 
deep craving that comes from the 
sparsity of it. 

Had it been more verdant, I 

could not know the desert's pain. 
•I 

I MAY grow flowers in my 
garden which you do not like, 
but the pity is if I allow you to 
trample them out. 

'TpHERE is a time when the 
-■- voice says, ''Come away! 
Come away!" and we heed it not, 
and all the years we wonder what 
is the matter with life. 



WHO sentenced my life to 
the rock-pile, and shackled 
its ankle with ball and chain? 



T WOULD have the things 
■* that I desire, to prove my 
power, and then I would have 
the capacity to forego them, to 
prove my greatness. 

I would achieve all things, and 
yet I would be so rich and suffi- 
cient within myself, that I could 
forego the fruits of my achieve- 
ment. 



'TpO have life while one can 
-*■ make it sing merrily, not 
quaveringly. 



I WOULD establish a great 
world brotherhood amongst 
those who had known the unf ul- 
fillment of a great human crav- 
ing, who had known the Great 
Want. 

I AM the song of the bird 
whose nest is robbed. 
I am the flight of the eagle with 
the broken wing. 

I am the body washed ashore, 
that went out to its brother at sea. 
I am the thief on the cross. 
I am the plaint of the pain. 
I am the sacrificial altar. 
I am life at its best and worst. 

T PRAYED for endowment, 
•*• but I wrongly prayed. It 
was the awakening that I sought. 




I AM not the spawn, maturing 
in a night, and perishing as 
quickly, — I am the plant with 
its single blossom of a hundred 
years. 

I am not the hours between 
the sun's rising and its setting, — ■ 
I am an epoch, marking the open- 
ing and closing of a cycle of time. 

TODAY I live between nar- 
row hills, but tomorrow I am 
the plainswoman, a habitat of 
vasty places. 

NOT a Magdalen but has the 
composite face of a Ma- 
donna, and not a scarlet woman 
but has the breasts and milk- 
glands of a mother. 



ONE will not need to know 
how to be glad, when the 
day has arrived. The need is to 
know how when the day is long 
deferred. 

TO beat them over the heads 
with clubs, may get obedi- 
ence, but to beat them over the 
hearts with love, will get 

miracles. 

I? 
T GREW fast to a thing in my 

•*" weakness, not in my strength. 

What I needed was the sharp 

edge of a cleaver between. 

^ 

np O feel life, to have the con- 

-■• sciousness of it, as a mother 

feels the turning of her babe in 

the womb. 




TODAY the worm 
dust, but tomorrow- 

LET me reel with the wine of 
living. 

Let me swoon in the poppy- 
fields of life. 

Let me be overcome by the 
heavy, narcotic presence of the 
days. 

T^TOT those who have life 

-^^ know its tragic meaning, 

but those who have missed it, 
afar, afar. 

T HAVE stayed too long with 
-*• a task that fed an alien hun- 
ger, and starved my own soul. 



T IFE may be somewhat with- 
•■-^ out faith in a God in heaven, 
but it will not be much without 
faith in a god in me. 

T DO not ask you to help me, 
■*" but I would appreciate it if 
you did not hinder me. 

'TnHAT day that I am cruci- 
-*- fied and buried in the tomb, 
I shall try to remember the day 
that the stone rolls away. 

TTAVE I made of life a tread- 
-*"-*■ mill, forever stepping but 
never getting on? 

Have I made of it a wheel 
flying round and round, but un- 
belted and without end or aim? 



IF life is harmony, I am that 
harmony. 
If it is discord, I am that clang- 
ing note. 

HE is truly exalted who can 
say, "There is not one be- 
neath me." 

WITH the same zeal that I 
seek freedom will I avoid 
trespassing. 

LIFE never lost its savor. It 
was I who lost my taste. 

TODAY I lie in the dust, and 
every heel is upon me, but 
tomorrow I shall look down from 
shafts of light. 



To come up through peasant- 
ry to the crown and sceptre 
of life! 

I ASK not whence nor whither, 
glad that I may not know, if 
only here and now I to myself 
may be revealed. 

I CRY for the light to break, 
while all the time the light is 
shining. Courage to follow it is 
my great need. 

T MAY swear by you today, 
-■- but tomorrow you may have 
passed from your own recogni- 
zance. 

I may plight you my troth, but 
natui e may forswear the vow. 



I WILL swear by a thing to- 
day, but I will have the cour- 
age to denounce it tomorrow, if 
needs be. The vows of ignorance 
are not binding upon enlighten- 
ment. 

I DID the thing, and that is 
how I know how courageous 
it would have been not to have 
done it. 

SHALL I let a worm of the 
earth destroy my faith in the 
sun, the moon, and the stars'? 

I WOULD fulfill my wildest 
dream of material possessions, 
that I might hear my soul wailing 
through marble halls. 



THERE is so much to do 
while life is at white heat, 
but when the thing is in the doing, 
how little we know its signifi- 
cance ! 

We drive life to the black veil, 
and we do not know it, and to the 
shamble, unawares. 

GIVE me that fabric which 
bears the finger-marks of 
the weaver, whose thread is the 
fiber of character, and whose de- 
sign is the impress of soul. 

I WOULD be a builder of 
empires. 
I would fell the forests, and 
bridge the chasms, and set a new 
survey upon the land. 



'TpHERE is but one higher 
-■• privilege than to choose, and 
that is, to rescind my choice. 

T WILL make ready for my 
-*• Day of Fate, and whether in 
that day my ship comes in, or 
whether my ship goes down, I 
will make ready, I will prepare. 

WHO pursues the vision 
must go alone and without 
counsel. 

Who follows the voice m.ust be 
his own interpreter. 

'TnO be at-one with humanness ! 
-*• To ebb with its ebb, and 
flow with its flow. 
To be attuned. 



T HAVE worked for attain- 
-*• ment, and worked well. 

I have worked for humanity, 
and was consecrate. 

But one day I will know the 
divinity of toil, — in that hour 
that I labor for my own soul. 

T AM the magnet, and that 
-*• that is mine will cleave. 

I am the waiting earth, and all 
in its own good time the fruit will 
ripen and fall. 

^ I ^HE truly great and gener- 
-*• ous man pardons every fault 
but his own. 

'TpHE man of strength knows 
-*• his own fallibility. 



T AM not big enough to accom- 
•*- modate life. That is why the 
caravan went around. My road 
is too narrow, my gate is too low. 
The measure of myself is so 
meagre, and that is all I can take. 

LIFE may be ready with her 
offerings, but she knows by 
my impatience that I am not pre- 
pared. 

She gives her best gifts to those 
who could get on without them. 

THOSE who have come out 
into the open have felled 
their way out. 

Those who have struck the vein 
have drilled down through layer 
upon layer of shale, and rock, and 
hopelessness. 



I HAVE been a pensioner when 
I had inalienable rights. 
I have accepted as alms when 
I was a rightful heir. 

WHAT matter that I came 
across the desert with a 
pack on my back, so that I ar- 
rived? 

I AM the vassal of the Divine. 
I am the Christ, bearing the 
message to my own life. 

T IFE lets us do the thing we 
-■-' are determined to do. 

If we are strong, she lets us 
claim the hostage. 

If we are weak, she does not 
stay the wheels. 



IF I am a clown, then all I ask 
is to find my sawdust ring of 
expression. 

T WILL have a care lest my 
-*• burden rest all too long where 
my wings might have grown. 



TO WIN brings its own buoy- 
ancy, but he is the god-man 
who can yet be glad, though he 
stake all and lose. 



IF living life loses me my phi- 
losophy and my faith, there is 
something wrong, not with life, 
but with my philosophy and me. 



\ ND if my own should come 
•^^^ and speak my name, and 
my craven tongue were dumb. 

Or if he came by in world-wide 
search of me, and I, poor fool, dis- 
guised, were passed. 

Or if he came by in his coach 
and six, and a donkey cart were 
tied at my door. 

'THHE rose speaks only its rose 
-■- language. 

It emits its rose fragrance, and 
lives its gracious rose life. 

And I, the sun-flower by the 
garden wall, I will learn of the 
rose. 

I will lift up my gorgeous sun- 
shine head and be glad. 



3^ 



TF I answer the stranger at my 
•*• gate while my own cry with- 
in, — perhaps my own is at the 
gate, and the strangers are within. 

TF I drink the hemlock, it is 
-»• because I have sat long hours 
over the fire brewing my own 
bitterness. 

T WOULD rather have faith 

•*• that here and now will be 

complete, than faith that heaven 

is the answer. 

I would rather walk this day 

w^ith joyous heart, than to believe 

that in fields Elysian the burden 

of my life would roll away. 

^ . 
T AM the supplicant, and I am 

•*• the god that answers prayer. 




IF I make of myself nothing, I 
shall expect not more than 
nothing's proper place and por- 
tion. 

T MAY say that this or that 
■*• thing came unbidden to my 
hearth, but it is of the retinue of 
my invited guest. 

ONE will forgive the long, 
parched lanes, and remem- 
ber them only kindly, once one 
has arrived at green fields. 

'\7'0JJ thought you knew life 
-*• because you sailed its sea tri- 
umphant, but I knew it because I 
went down in a wreck. 



ONLY the weak of purpose 
falter at the parting of the 
ways. 

T MIGHT have made friends 
•*• with life, for we have come a 
long ways together. 

T ET me be lusty and virile, 
•*-' that the thing that I do may 
be strong in the mesh. 

WHILE the black slough 
mud can send forth lilies 
to blossom on its breast, I shall 
not despair. 

GIVE me that life that is 
seamed and riven with 
living. 



MID-CHANNEL of my life 
lies the wreck of myself, 
raising its menacing spars, but I 
am wiring the wreck to a mine in 
the harbor. 

I AM a soul in process. 
AM life in the making. 
I am a weaver with shuttle and 
thread, and back in my loom the 
design begins to show. 

ONE day Life will bless the 
sacrament of the days. 
She will robe me in her vestry, 
and anoint me, as one who enters 
holy orders. 

TMAY not set you free. It is 
•■' not a gift, but a growth. 



BLESSED be the things which 
cannot be endured. 
It is when I am deepest down 
that I lift myself farthest out. 

I MAY give a thousand rea- 
sons, but when all is said and 
done, just write, "va|cillating 
and weak of will." I 

I WOULD stand the test of 
the primitive folk, who know 
the taste of unsalted food. 

YOU tell me to do this, or 
that, or that another thing 
would better please, but do you 
not know that I must do the 
thing I can? 



T 



F hindrances could hinder, not 
one could do his work. 

T is not how much salt in a 
tear, but how much grief. 

O be lifted up and out, into 
Life's unrestraint and big- 
ness! 

TO one day know the taste of 
that for which, through long 
years, we have starved. 

To sit down to the feast of 
Deferred, Withheld, and Forbid- 
den things ! 

LIFE is life, until it is what 
we make of it. 
Hemp is hemp, — until it is a 
life-line or a hangman's rope. 



nr^HAT which comes may not 
•*- be best, but I can make the 
best out of it. 

A holocaust that devours a 
city may be cruel and unpitying, 
but the new city may rise, a 
glory. 

THAT another does less, or 
has less, shall bring no solace 
to me. I shall find no joy in com- 
parative states. 

What is lacking in my life is 
lacking, and the contemplation 
of another's greater misfortune, 
or imperfections, shall work no 
sickening compromise with me. 

ONE day I will count my 
possessions, and they will 
include me. 



SHALL you care that jackdaws 
peck at you, and do you not 
know that vultures fly over the 
desert where a lone traveller 
stalks? 

SOME give their cast-off coats, 
and some the coats from their 
back. 

And some give bread alone, 
and some give bread and tears. 

T SEEMED to be doing the 
■*• thing for you, but primarily 
it was my own soul to save. 

I invited you into the warmth 
of my hearth, but it was I who 
must be warmed. 

I gave you to drink, but it was 
I who thirsted, and to eat, be- 
cause I, too, must be fed. 



I WILL not carry a thing to 
its culmination simply be- 
cause I entered in. 

I may have said I wanted it, 
but I will have the courage to 
say, "I have changed my mind." 

nr^HE route is all the same, 
•*- only the end is different. 
We all come down the same 
long lanes, through the same 
wildernesses, across the same 
deserts, up through the same val- 
leys, and over the same hills. 
The way is all the same. Only 
the end is the individual's. 

WHO does much will relin- 
quish a great deal. 
It will bear the virile marks of 
sacrifice. 



AND in the end it would be 
to our great advantage if a 
God dealt with us, for only a 
God could forgive us our vacuous 
lives. 

WE carry our burden on and 
on, until one day, sud- 
denly, we laugh and set it down 
upon the ground. 

TT is not outer conditions, but 
•*• inner impoverishment, that 
limits me to this meagre supply. 

WHILE I might find pleas- 
ure in your approval, your 

disapproval will not deter me. 
•I 

TO comprehend, to accept, 
and to be glad! 



NOT one can you set free, 
but you may inspire the 
desire. 

Not one for another, but you 
may incite to action. 

HEREDITY is much, en- 
vironment is much, but 1 
am much more. 

I WILL have the courage to 
do the thing that I am im- 
pelled to do. I will not faint, 
nor falter, nor "by your leave." 



THE incoming may still my 
heart's weeping, but only 
that which I send forth will still 
the deeper cry of my soul. 



IT is not the thing you seem to 
be that I admire. It is the 
thing there which you have 
obscured. 

WHO would not die, and 
die again, if he might also 
rise in resurrection? 

Who would not suffer to be 
nailed to the cross if he might 
ascend into his heaven and sit at 
his Father's right hand? 

TO be delivered from myself! 
From my one self, the 
Enemy, and to my other self, 
the Friend; 

From my one self, the Prodi- 
gal, to my other self, the Return. 



T PRAYED for strength to 
■*• bear my burden, but it was 
not a burden of strength. 

Strength would have put an 
end to it. 

ONCE I said I would rise up 
and cast it off, before the 
forces gathered. I would not 
forget the giant whom the Lilli- 
puts destroyed. 

TO one day read the pages of 
life, and subscribe to what 
they contain. 

To accept what was; 
To stamp it with the stamp of 
my approval, and accept it with 
my sign and seal. 



THE dead level is not life. 
Give me the stimulus of the 
up-grade. 

DEFEAT shall be victory, if 
I may live and die an en- 
thusiast, buoyant to the end. 

To die in failure, if one may 
yet die in faith! 

IF my spontaneity does not fit 
the code, I will forego the 

code. 

•5 

T MAY never find the thing I 

•*• seek, but maybe you will have 

caught the spirit of my dream. 

I may never set foot upon my 

Promised Land, but maybe you 

will go on. 



T MAY forget God, for I am 
■*• a weak and erring human, 
but God is God, and he will not 
forget me. 

LIFE is a tragedy to those who 
really live her. 
She is a levity not even to the 
clown, — only to the fool. 

T WILL not take my wares to 
■*• the palace door, but outside 
the gate, where the peasants pass. 
Mine to supply a want, not to 
relieve a surfeit. 



ONE day to collect the scat- 
tered fragments of myself, 
and give them symmetry, and 
wholeness, and use. 



THERE are no short cuts to 
destiny. It is the long way 
around. 

There is no hastening the day. 
The long night must pass. 

'TpHE gift comes not back to 
•*- him who surfeits, and gives 
of what remains, but to him who 
gives of half the cup that barely 
was enough to slake his own deep 
thirst. 

NO narrow wall shall confine 
me, and no depressing roof 
shall mark my poverty. I am 
rich and limitless, for mine is the 
depth of worlds, the height of 
skies, and the width of the far 
horizon. = , »^ ^ 

H 70 86 











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